Ashes
by carinims01
Summary: The night of January 27, 1970 wasn't one Murdock could easily forget. Not ever. There had been increased VC activity all day, and after he dropped the team in Hanoi, he flew back to HQ to report back, as per his orders. The conversation he walked into, however, would change everything, including what happened to his team. No slash. Prequel to s1. T for violence.


Disclaimer: I don't own The A-Team

Well, this is unexpected. I write insanely for the Merlin fandom, but I never thought I'd do it for The A-Team fandom, too. ;D Anyway, here's that headcanon one-shot I was telling you guys about.

It's my belief that Murdock actually _was_ the one who killed Morrison. After everything that's happened to him and how passionate he is about keeping his friends safe, it's plausible. I rewatched the first three episodes of series 5, where they have the trial, and they never actually found out who did it. Stockwell only speculated that it was Curtis, and he was killed before he could be questioned again. Quite honestly, I think that Stockwell figured out somehow that it was Murdock and blackmailed him on the side... But I'll go into more detail after this. ;)

It picks up right as Murdock is heading back to HQ to report back. :)

Enjoy:

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><p><strong>Ashes<strong>

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><p>The loud din of the helicopter blades and the incessant static coming from his headset, barely broken by men's choppy voices, was really the only thing the seasoned pilot could hear. He narrowed his eyes against the smoke rising from the dense jungle below, struggling to see through the smog. The increased VC activity had Murdock's blood racing through his veins already; the last thing he needed was to be flying blind when he had a mission to complete.<p>

Tangerine lights flickered up from the small meadows that broke the green canopy, and the Captain almost wished Morrison had let him keep his co-pilot aboard. He understood the reasons, though—the kid was too wet behind the ears to fly as far into enemy territory as they had. Murdock only hoped Hannibal. B.A., and Face would be alright in Hanoi without air support.

Finally, the base came into view, and Murdock's dark eyes flashed with fear at the plumes of smoke rising up from several of the forest colored tents. He watched as one structure exploded into a mushroom of fire and saw several more helicopters on the other side of the base take off, a handful of soldiers running across the landing zone to other waiting hueys. Knowing he had to be in and out fast, Murdock carefully lowered the chopper only twenty yards from the HQ building, leaving the helicopter running to make a quick escape. He knew that Morrison, and possibly Cutis, were waiting for him to report back and, more than likely, they'd need him to carry them from the base. He threw his helmet into the pilot's seat, taking a quick look around.

He slapped his hand atop his head, holding his beloved baseball cap in place as he ran, hunched over, towards the two-story building. More explosions rebounded around the area as the pilot flung the door open, darting inside and leaning against the wall to catch his breath. His body trembled from the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the excitement of flying through enemy territory, but he still had to report back and get his guys outta there.

Pushing himself off the wall, Murdock took a deep breath and pulled his flight jacket down, cursing the high collar that chafed his neck. His combat boots were surprisingly quiet as the Captain jogged down the long hallway and towards Colonel Morrison's office.

"Bạn có nghiêm trọng?" (1)

Murdock stopped dead in his tracks, his senses instantly heightened as the smooth tones of the Vietnamese flowed down the hallway. The pilot's sharp eyes narrowed as he pressed himself against the wall, his fingers automatically curling around the handgun tucked into his waistband. Hannibal had always said it might come in handy; the Captain just never thought the Colonel's words would come true at HQ. He continued down the hallway, hugging the wall until the left wall split off into a large room. Murdock peeked around the corner, taking in the scene.

He couldn't see the Vietnamese operative; the Captain couldn't even sure which side he was _on_—the Charlie's or theirs_._ (2) Morrison stood in front of his desk, arms hanging listlessly at his sides. His shoulders were squared, though, as if he didn't wholly trust the man standing a few feet before him.

"Come on, Sam," he muttered to himself. "Gimme somethin' to work with here."

The Colonel's brow furrowed, the corners of his mouth tightening with frustration. "Don't blame me!" he snapped. "It was your men who blew communications."

"Điều đó không quan trọng, Morrison," the Vietnamese said, his strong accent coating every word. (3) "Now, the plan will not work and we will both be in trouble."

Confusion ran through the pilot deeper than any other feeling within him. Was this Vietnamese a good guy, or a bad guy? So, the Captain did the only thing he could think of at the moment: he came out of hiding.

"Colonel?" he interrupted softly, resting his right hand on his hip in effort to hide his weapon, ever on the ready, from sight.

"Captain, you're back!"

Murdock nodded, glancing suspiciously at the Vietnamese. The elder man's dark hair accented his tanned skin and deep brown eyes; his thin lips were drawn into a frown and if looks could kill... "As per my orders, sir."

"Yes, of course. You made the drop alright?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," the Vietnamese said, taking a brave step forwards. The anger in his eyes seemed to settle and he interlocked his fingers behind his lower back. "Then maybe all is not lost."

Murdock glared at the man momentarily, sizing him up once more before his gaze snapped to his CO, a question apparent on his handsome features. "Sir, I'm sorry, but who the heck is this? You do realize we're bein' shelled? We need to get outta here." A _boom_ing explosion only seemed to cement the Captain's words, each of the men flinching at the sudden din.

"Yes, Captain, I realize that." Suddenly, and to Murdock's rising fear, the Colonel suddenly smiled. He was _smiling_ while HQ was under attack; their _lives_ were on the line. And people said _he _was crazy. "This man, Captain Murdock, is General Tran Qui Vien."

"Oh, that's wonderful," he spat sarcastically, cocking his eyebrow with a flash of dark humor in his irises. "Very informative."

The Colonel's eyes flashed with annoyance. "Remember who you're speaking to, _Captain." _

"Colonel, your men show much disrespect. I would not tolerate such... impudence in my command."

"Yes, sir."

Murdock rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to draw his gun on the Vietnamese. They still hadn't given him an inkling as to who he really was, nor why he was here. He seemed to be a good guy—Sam was talking to him as though they were friends. And yet, the Captain couldn't shake the sharp feeling of unease coursing through him.

The Vietnamese glanced between him and the Colonel. "What is that name you have for the Viet Cong, Colonel? Charlie?"

"Yes, General."

Qui Vien flashed him a grin, a genuine, teasing smile, and the unease Murdock felt instantly melted to unfathomable dread.

"No..." he whispered. His dark eyes widened slightly, his fingers tightening around the gun of their own accord.

"I'm afraid so, Captain. I am, apparently, what you would call a "Charlie." The shelling is my doing, but do not fear, we are safe within these walls."

The pilot's panicked eyes locked onto his CO's, whose irises were quickly filling with sick amusement and almost delight. "Colonel?"

Smirking deviously, the man said, "Murdock, you really do have a record of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Too bad, too. You're the best pilot we have." Morrison twisted around, eyes landing on a handgun sitting on his desk. As he reached for it, however, Murdock pulled out his own.

"Hold it," he snapped vehemently. Once both the Colonel and the General were still, eyes locked on the weapon in his hand, Murdock continued. "Now, does someone want to explain to me what's going on? Morrison, h-how could you work for them?"

"Money," Qui Vien answered easily. "Even Americans can be bought, Mr. Murdock."

"W-what?" the pilot muttered. "Colonel, we trusted you. Hannibal trusted you!"

Morrison simply shrugged. "I know. It made it easier to pull it off."

"'It'?" he repeated coldly. "What's 'it'?"

Qui Vien flashed the CO a pointed look; Morrison didn't see it and answered the pilot. "The mission, of course. What, you really thought that ripping off a bank would stop the war? Don't you see? It's a _trap._ If everything goes right, they'll be intercepted by the Viet Cong on the way there and captured as prisoners of war."

"But you said..." Even his voice sounded strained and lost. "You set them up." A thought entered his mind and, suddenly, his emotion-filled eyes darted around the room. "I have to get them outta there. I have to-"

"You will not be going anywhere, Captain," Qui Vien interrupted, drawing his own weapon out of his jacket. He aimed it pointedly at Murdock's head, his arm completely horizontal and fingers itching to fire. He did, three times, but the pilot ducked behind a file cabinet as the invisible bullets broke through a pane of glass. The glass shattered and a harmonious _clink_-ing noise resounded through the room as the glass broken on the floor. The sounds of the war outside increased tenfold and, just at that moment, the corner of the building was hit; smoke began to fill the room.

The pilot's fingers tightened around the gun and he peeked around the cabinet, eyes searching for Qui Vien as he struggled to see in the thickening smog and growing flames. Desperation and anger was a dangerous combination, and right now, the Captain had both coursing through his system, fighting for dominance and control of his emotions and, therefore, his actions.

In the seconds he took to aim, however, squinting through the smoke and choking on the dust that had been thrown up from a nearby explosion, Qui Vien had left. Or, at least, Murdock couldn't see him anymore. Swearing under his breath, the pilot slowly climbed to his feet, trying not to fall back down when his quivering knees nearly buckled.

"Murdock!"

The Captain tucked his mouth and nose into his bent elbow, coughing as his watering eyes sought out Morrison, a familiar rage within him flaring up with fresh gusto. The Colonel stumbled out of the smoke, his hand covering his mouth while his other hand searched blindly for something to hold. After a second, his fingers curled around the corner of the cabinet Murdock had been hiding behind and he leaned against it, lifting his eyes. His hazed brown irises locked onto Murdock's, who already had his weapon trained on him from just a few feet away.

"Kid..."

The softness and mock desperation in his voice as he uttered the fond endearance that Hannibal was so famous for using was what broke through Murdock's shock induced trance. "I am _not_ a kid, Colonel. You betrayed your own people, you bastard."

"No, Murdock, listen: It was all a ploy—"

Grief and sorrow hit him like a wall of bricks, and though the smoke was filling his lungs and he was struggling to breathe, he shouted, _"Don't_ lie to me, Colonel! Don't."

The Colonel put his hands up and took a step back, eyes widening with true fear as his eyes locked on the gun held in Murdock's trembling hands. "Okay, okay."

"I should shoot you right now for what you've done."

"Murdock, we have to get out of here. The shelling—"

When Morrison took a single step forward, the pilot took the safety off with an audible _click_. "You're a traitor, Colonel. To your country. And to your friends."

Another shell exploded outside, shaking the ground. Murdock's wild eyes whipped around, trying to find the source of the explosion, but before he could focus again, Morrison shoved him back against the wall. The gun went flying from his hand, skittering across the hard ground as the Colonel's fist connected with Murdock's ribs, twice. The Captain wrapped his thin arms around his middle, gasping for breath as he clenched his eyes shut The elder man's fingers twisted into the pilot's fatigues, holding him captive while he punched him in the face. The Captain shouted in pain as white spots danced across his vision, crimson dripping down from his right nostril. Releasing his hold and shoving him away, Murdock fell to the floor, landing on his chest as he struggled to breath.

"That's enough,_ Captain,"_ he spat, glaring at the man who was once his friend. He turned on his heel, eyes locking on the weapon that had fallen to the ground in the struggle. Morrison took a single step towards it before tripped up, his chin connecting with the concrete and causing pain to radiate through his whole head.

The hand wrapped round his ankle tightened as Murdock pushed himself upwards, but as the Colonel flipped over, he grabbed the pilot's shoulders, pushing him away from him violently while he all but snarled at the Captain. Murdock's hands, however, gripped his clothing tightly, making it nearly impossible to push the Captain away. Climbing to his feet, Morrison pulled Murdock with him, throwing him against the filing cabinet. Dust flew into the air, making both men cough after Murdock's head whipped back from the impact.

Recovering his senses, anger burned deep with him, and the pilot's fingers curled into a tight fist and he swung, aiming for Morrison's side. The Colonel sucked in a breath of air just after the contact, and Murdock brought his knee up to connect with his stomach. Winded, Morrison stumbled backwards. Murdock let him, even pushing him away as another explosion shook the ground. He turned away to go for the gun, only to have a hand grab his shoulder and whip him around. Before he could even focus on the Colonel's face, his vision swam from being hit in the head with a length of wood. Distantly, he heard someone scream, and it took several more seconds to realize that it'd been him. Blood poured down from his temple, staining his pale skin and pooling on the ground as he tried to climb to his feet. He could hear his pulse in his ears and his head throbbed as warm blood was pumped through his head. Grunting, Murdock stumbled forward, his fingers curling around the weapon's handle just as Morrison pulled the wood back to strike him again.

The Captain felt a rush of genuine terror course through him at the look on Morrison's face. His fingers tightened around the curved trigger and he impulsively fired off two shots.

Morrison was barely three feet away; there was no way that Murdock could miss, not with his training and experience in the field. He didn't, either.

Crimson trailed down from the two holes in the Colonel's chest, the nightmarish color soaking into his forest green fatigues and staining his padded jacket. His eyes, once murderous and rageful, were soft and comprehending. Before he swayed, their gazes met; and the pain, blame, and pure terror in the Colonel's brown irises would haunt the young pilot forever.

Morrison's knees gave out beneath him as the ground shook once more; he landed on his side, his head curled into his limp body while a crimson pool grew on the dusty floor.

Murdock, with more energy and resilience than he thought he had, painfully climbed to his feet, nausea and fear rolling within him with every movement, every heartbeat. His head pounded from his head wound, which was still gushing fresh blood, and the gun slipped from his fingers as he stumbled past Morrison's body, loudly clattering to the ground. The sharp tang of blood assaulted his senses and, choking, the pilot's fingers spread against the wall as he doubled over and retched. Moments later, dry heaving as his shaking arm wrapped around his aching middle, the entire building exploded in fire.

The Captain was thrown clear of the wall, further down the hallway, and landed hard on his side. His leg burned for whatever reason as he climbed to his feet, grimacing as he gasped for breath. Murdock practically felt the heat of the ravenous flames on his back and slammed his hand against the wall-_how was it still standing?-_-to guide him down the hallway. His eyes burned and watered; he was barely able to keep them open as he limped painfully down the hallway.

Murdock flung the door open, picking up a little speed as he staggered towards his chopper. Once he reached it, his hand curled around the metal bar for support and he painstakingly threw his helmet on, adjusting the microphone to rest beside his mouth. As his hands moved, however, he was startled at the scarlet caked onto his skin and, glancing downwards, he only found more soaked into his clothing.

His stomach clenched and the pilot gagged, knowing if he had anything else in his stomach he'd be sick again. Murdock climbed into the huey, flipping switches and poking buttons before his hand tightened around the joystick and he pulled backwards, his feet leveled out on the foot controls as he gained altitude. The sharp sounds of the helicopter's rotors were muffled due to the pilot's well-fitting helmet, but the incessant ringing in his ear was beginning to worry him.

Murdock blinked furiously, struggling to clear his hazy vision as he swayed in his seat. His head was still bleeding profusely and it was throwing off his balance much more than he would have liked. His eyes glanced between the horizon and his instruments, making sure he stayed horizontal.

Plumes of smoke rose up from the jungle and Murdock couldn't be more grateful to spy one of their own choppers flying away from the base. He carefully pulled the joystick right, wincing as he moved his leg. There was a crimson spot growing on the side of his leg, but as he fell behind the other huey, all he could think about was his team.

Morrison had betrayed them; they were headed for a trap. And on top of that, there wasn't any proof that they were under orders.

The Captain had half a mind to turn round to see if he could find the orders Morrison had given them, but the more logical part of his mind knew that the papers would have burn to a crisp by now. Hannibal, B.A., and Face would be arrested as criminals at best; at worst, they would be taken by the Charlie as prisoners of war.

And it was all his fault.

He should have realized; should have known. He should have seen past Morrison's lies, or at least had the presence of mind to grab a copy of the orders; maybe even drag the Colonel himself to say he sent the A-team on the mission.

Gunfire riddled the side of the chopper, breaking Murdock from his thoughtful trance. His eyes snapped to the left, holding his breath as pain shot through his head at the sudden action. He couldn't see anything through the thick smoke and jungle's canopy, but he pulled the joystick further to the right, fighting the wave of dizziness that crashed over him. The gunfire stopped but the nausea rolling in him didn't cease.

Only the slightest bit of relief washed over him ten minutes later when he saw a US army base a few miles away. More choppers flew around him, and as he finally hovered over the LZ, he pushed all thoughts from his mind as he tried to focus on landing safely. By rights, he shouldn't be flying at all. Not with the wounds he was sporting.

His shaking hand loosened on the joystick of its own accord as he less-than-gracefully set his bird down. The sharp tang of blood made him gag, and with a twinge of desperation, Murdock ripped off his flight helmet, tossing it weakly away from him as he stumbled sideways out of the chopper. The din of dozens of others of rotors increased tenfold and the pilot blacked out momentarily as his head connected with the concrete.

Fading in and out, Murdock heard someone yelling his name over the rambunctious noises around him. A hand grabbed his jacket, turning him over, but the Captain was fading again just as a pang of agony shot through him.

Just before he slipped into unconsciousness, the stress and shock of everything that had happened finally catching up to him, a single thought flashed through his mind, one that would remain with him forever.

Whatever happened to the team he was proud to call _his_ unit, _his family,_ would he his fault.

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><p>Translations by Google Translate<p>

(1) Vietnamese: Are you serious?

(2) American slang for the Viet Cong

(3) Vietnamese: That does not matter, Morrison.

(5) LZ means "landing zone"

Honestly, guys, it helps that I'm reading "The Things They Carried" by Tim O'Brien in English. :)

I hope you guys liked it! It was a lot of fun to write. :D Honestly, I think that learning Morrison was on their side and the shock and the fight was what really made Murdock lose it like he did. Another headcanon revealed!

Okay, so the thing I mentioned earlier was another headcanon of mine. Basically, I think that Stockwell found out that Murdock killed Morrison and blackmailed him for it. He forced him not to reveal himself at the trial and forced him to move to Virginia so he can still be a part of the team. And I think that Stockwell also believed that he had to punish Murdock in some way, which is why he wasn't allowed to stay with his team at the house and why he had to provide for himself. I think that the stress and the pressure he was under now that he had to live in the real world, which he hadn't done in the past decade, caused Murdock to change (which is why he didn't act so crazy in season 5 and why he always seemed tense.) After all, Stockwell is already blackmailing the team for pardons and blackmailed Frankie to work for him. Why wouldn't he blackmail Murdock in some way if it benefited him?

Sorry that got so long. Really, though, you should have seen the message I sent my beta when this first became my headcanon. It was like four paragraphs long. Anyway, I'm hoping to write it up soon, as a sequel to this, but I'm not sure when I would have it posted. I have other stories I need to work on too. ;)

Goodnight, all. :D


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